#khthonic

The Queen of the Underworld has heard all the tales of hell.

The fiery halls and eternal damnation. The danger, the deadly, the desolation.

And when she goes down under for winter, she knows what they mean.

The red-russet desert stretches for miles and miles, not a human soul in sight.

The oppressive heat bearing down, drying the air in your lungs,

And venomous fangs looking to paralyse the mightiest foe.

But when she departs the north in winter, she never abandons her duty.

A blanket of icy snow gives way to the palest death lilies of the south,

The swooping birds of prey protecting their young,

And the last heavy rains before the arrival of the scorching summer sun.

Persephone goes down under in winter

And the Southern Cross guides her way there.

.

A sacrifice to a god was performed on a high altar, a bômos; the preferred victim was an ox; the preferred colour white; the victim's throat was cut with the head pulled back and facing up; and the sacrifice took place in the morning. After appropriate parts had been offered to the god, the rest was eaten by worshippers. For a hero, a sacrifice was performed on a hearth, an eschara, or over a pit, a bothros; the preferred victim was a ram or pig; the preferred colour black; the victim's throat was held down over the hearth or pit; and the sacrifice took place at night. The victim was burnt whole, providing no meal for the worshippers. There were frequent exceptions to these rules[...]

Nonny it is my wish this year to learn much much more about Demeter, and by association Kore/Persephone, but I honestly don’t know enough now to answer this with any kind of confidence.

I can only guess that Kore could be worshipped khthonically, as khthonic doesn’t only refer to the underworld but also anything of the earth. Nature deities were worshipped in a Khthonic manner. There are some myths that state Persephone is always queen of the underworld even when she ascends in spring, so in that case I guess she would always be worshipped that way. I would hazard a guess that this is up to the worshipper and a discussion to be had via divination with Kore herself.

There were three ways to pray to different gods:

Ouranic (Olympian) Gods: standing with arms outstretched and palms upward

Oceanic Gods: standing with arms outstretched toward the sea, palms turned toward a cult image (statue, item, figure etc)

Khthonic (Earthly/Underworld) Gods: on the ground, pounding the earth with fists

Kneeling down to pray is unusual. The gesture of entreaty is outstretched arms. To invoke the heavenly gods, both hands are raised to the sky with upturned palms; to call on the gods of the sea, the arms are extended out to the sea; the hands are also stretched toward the cult image. [...] Special measures are required, however, if the dead or the gods of the underworld are to be reached. Poets describe how the suppliant hurls himself on the ground and hammers the earth with fists.

QUOTES I FOUND ON PINTEREST SENTENCE STARTERS PT. ONE || [x] ______________________________________________

@khthonic​​ said: “All thoughts finish themselves eventually.” - Thanatos

✨ Spitha watches the other with tired eyes, worn from the battle and bloodshed - even aspects of a violent encounter itself grew tired of the senseless slaughter, after enough mortal blood had stained the burned ground below their feet - witnessing him work, keeping watch at the end of one of the makeshift beds, set up for wounded and dying soldiers.

It had not been the fervour of battle that took them, though no less, a spot in Elysium would, most certainly, await them, following their selfless sacrifice, the bravery of their last stand. She had been the one to inspire them to it; the one to take their reckless eagerness as an offering. 

A gift of blood for the war goddess.

“They do.“ she agrees, as Death approaches the wounded warrior, laying his hand over the man’s eyes - gently, so incredibly gently, barely the tickle of dark feathers on bare skin. And then, the man falls silent, his raspy, uneven breathing ceasing, morphing into peaceful silence.

A merciful end. 

Who had ever said death incarnate could not be kind?

It was not the manner of passing her kin was able to deliver. Her father and brothers, her closest allies, both in life as in battle; all they left behind, wherever they went was wanton chaos, pain and destruction.

They knew nothing of gentleness; of patience, like the one displayed by Thanatos himself. It had been quite a while since he showed himself in the tent - and the soldier in question had been right on the verge of passing for much longer.

He could have just dropped by to pick up what was left of the soul of the passing, reap the remains of a human being and be on his way back - and yet, he had waited. Not all too long, of course, but... he had watched over the man, as he drew his final breaths, the presence of death itself, a finality hanging in the air... had it been soothing? Was this what Thanatos had attempted to achieve?

Or was it a mere attempt to sate his curiosity, regarding the process of mortal beings’ passing?

The godling would never be able to say, she assumed. 

Death had never been the end she assumed she even could experience, at some point during her existence - and even if, by some miracle, she found herself in the Underworld, no more than another shade in the legions of the souls passed. She doubted her demise would ever turn out to be... quite such a peaceful one.

She was the daughter of War, born with fire in her veins. One like her would not think of dying in their sleep.

“You waited.“ she points out, addressing Thanatos directly, as the shape of a translucent emerald spectre begins materialising at the other’s side. The dead warrior,without a doubt.

“Won’t that get you in trouble?” she teases, good-naturedly, though, a cheeky smile lingering on her features.

“Allowing the thoughts of an already dead man run out, letting his life snuff itself out on its own?“ Such kindness was... rare, she had to admit. Near unbelievable, even for the young goddess.

She lowers her gaze, closing her eyes for a moment, worn out, both physically and emotionally.

“Well; you take good care of this one on your way-“ And as she looks up to Death once more, he and the shade have already vanished, poofed right out of existence.

“...back.“

Spitha scoffs at that; though she cannot be mad with the Chthonic.

Not when he treated the souls she passed over to him in quite this manner.

But wasn’t she a goddess? An immortal being, strong and capable beyond human belief, beyond any of them could ever hope to achieve. Who exactly was there to stop her, if she wished to look upon the snowy landscape, to traverse it in disguise, to converse with humans, listen to their complaints, assess their pleas and curses.

To help, if she could.

She now knew better, of course.

She should have stayed home. She never should have dared to leave the mountain in the first place.

Keeping her hands busy, nimble fingers worked yet another flower into the wreath; a simple crafting project she had been occupying herself with throughout the afternoon. She recalled the times she would sit down with her lady mother, pick the flowers she deemed suitable for an arrangement, for the two of them to turn into a crown of pure bloom. Sometimes her brothers and sister would join them; they might not have always gotten along, but in these rare moments of absolute peace and harmony… Spitha had been happy, back then. Truly happy.

She could still recall the feeling, even now, as nostalgia and melancholy settled in, filling the young goddess’ mind with troubled thoughts of the future, the past…

She should never have even dared visit the mortal realm, and the places beyond. She knew full well it wasn’t her place to do so. She knew her home was here, up on Mount Olympus, hidden in the clouds, away from the prying eyes of humans.

Safe and sound.

She should have stayed.

Consumed by her thoughts, Spitha failed to notice lady Aphrodite’s approach - it was the scent of sea foam and flowers that finally tore her out of the intense contemplation, the sudden realisation of a presence to her side causing the goddess to flinch, instinctively jumping to her feet, the flowers she kept in her lap now scattered all over the ground around her.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, mildly amused, though sadness lingered in her voice. “Mother, I- forgive me, I didn’t hear you.” she elaborated, offering the goddess a smile. The flower crown, still a work in progress, rested in both her hands now.

“Have you… you haven’t just been waiting for me to finish for all too long, I hope?” came the question, bright eyes - now dulled with hidden sorrow - lifting up to meet Aphrodite’s own.

Try as she might, she knew she would only be able to disguise her heartbreak for so long.

Such were the woes of existence… even that of an immortal being.